


The Many Faces of Philippe d'Orléans

by sidekickjoey



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Flirty, Fluff, Happy, I wish the show had given us more cute moments like this, M/M, This is the purest of fluff and banter between these two, You know they happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22335634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidekickjoey/pseuds/sidekickjoey
Summary: The Chevalier knows Philippe is a man of many faces and facades. He also knows only he gets to see the best in his arsenal. Cute fluffy flirty fun courtesy of these two lovers, a book of poetry, and lots of introspection.
Relationships: Chevalier de Lorraine/Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	The Many Faces of Philippe d'Orléans

**Author's Note:**

> I had an absolute ball writing this. Seriously, I could see the scene playing out so vividly in my head. I just love these two. Hope you do not have cavities, because this will only make them worse. Enjoy!
> 
> PS: The sonnet included in this story is "When Conquering Love" by Michael Drayton.

To the Chevalier de Lorraine, Philippe Duc d’Orléans is a man of many faces.

While the world sees a porcelain doll, a foil to His Majesty in every which way, the Chevalier sees a god. He sees gallantry and calculation. Biting wit and sharpness. Immense restraint in the passion of duty. Every action of his is decided upon with remarkable precision and thought – thought which not even the King of France holds the capabilities for. He pays witness to a fighting tiger, through and through, who does not let dirt thrown in his face stop him from what he truly desires. He sees a man who will twist the minds and hearts of many to get his way.

He sees a King.

Even now, as he sits with his legs crossed, nose stuffed in some book concerning war on his favorite chair, Philippe Duc d’Orléans looks majestic. Regal. His beautiful eyes are trained on the text, reflecting flecks of sunlight that likewise light up his hair a dark chestnut brown. With the beauty of him comes the strength. His shoulders are broad – his posture does not cease to be perfect even in his leisure. His jaw is set, moving only with the turn of a page or at the reading of something jovial. The Chevalier notices this strength where others do not. He sees past the foil, past the sparkling outfits and bows to the King and feigned smiles, and acknowledges the emotionally vivid stallion beneath.

It is perhaps why they work so well together.

While others would go to Philippe in this instance with comments about his reading of poetry, about how ‘odd’ it is that he spends his time mulling over such trivial matters, the Chevalier pays no mind to its genre. He instead approaches with a sly compliment of how strapping Philippe is looking that evening and ghosts his lips along the prince’s neck. The proper greeting for a royal of his caliber, of course. When he responds with a low, deep breath, the Chevalier does not chide him for such an expression, but rewards it. He turns Philippe’s head to face his, caresses his cheek, and grants him the most feather-light of kisses. Philippe hums into the feeling as they part, and it is not a sign of weakness to the Chevalier. No, it is a sign of strength. A sign of a man willing to be vulnerable and express love.

He thinks this is the face of Philippe he likes most of all.

“I fear I took you away from a most spirited activity, my love.”

There is a glimmer of mirth in Philippe’s eye, and the Chevalier finds his heart warm from it. “Since when have you cared about being a distraction?”

“Since you looked to enjoy it so. Might I join you?”

“That’s a far cry from not being a distraction, you know.”

“I know, ” the Chevalier smiles, booping the prince’s nose, “but sitting with you is too enticing an offer to pass up.”

Philippe sets aside his book. “You speak as if there were such an offer made.”

“Darling, with me and you, there is _always_ such an offer on the table. Now, scoot.”

Obediently, Philippe makes room. He takes his legs down from the chair, and the Chevalier is quick to replace them. Where Philippe once leaned against the chair’s backing for support, the Chevalier now leans on Philippe. Philippe rolls his eyes at how comfy he makes himself in the free space.

“Will you read to me, Philippe?”

Sighing heavily, Philippe tsks at the Chevalier. Nevertheless, he reaches over to the book and opens it for the both of them to see, bringing him even closer to his side. The Chevalier ends up holding one side of the book as his lover scans the text.

_“When conquering Love did first my Heart assail,  
Unto mine aid I summon'd every Sense,  
Doubting, if that proud tyrant should prevail,  
My Heart should suffer for mine Eyes' offense;  
But he with Beauty first corrupted Sight,  
My Hearing bribed with her tongue's harmony,  
My Taste by her sweet lips drawn with delight,  
My Smelling won with her breath's spicery.  
But when my Touching came to play his part  
(The King of Senses, greater than the rest),  
He yields Love up the keys unto my Heart,  
And tells the other how they should be blest.  
And thus by those of whom I hop'd for aid  
To cruel Love my Soul was first betray'd.”_

Soft lips find their way to Philippe’s cheek, and he smiles at their soft caress.

“What a most magnificent sonnet,” the lips say, pulling away and forming a smile of their own. “Who is it by?”

“A poet by the name of Michael Drayton.”

“An Englishman?”

“Yes,” he confirms, watching the Chevalier pull away in contemplation out of the corner of his eye. “Does that change your opinion?”

The Chevalier falls silent. “I suppose I had no idea the English could be so… _romantic_.”

“The French are not the only peoples capable of love, my love.”

“Yes, but we do it better than _anyone_.”

Philippe rolls his eyes as the Chevalier drops his end of the book and sprawls out across him. So unabashed, so ridiculous. He knows he is acting extra dramatic, but he also knows Philippe _loves_ it. He knows the exhaustion and chiding looks are merely another collection of his faces put on to hide his true emotions, his true desires. Ignoring the narrow gaze, he reaches up and traces Philippe’s tight lips with his finger. Philippe remains still, eyes never leaving him.

“Well, regardless of its author, I find it stimulating.”

A wicked smirk appears on the Chevalier’s face, and Philippe is quick to smother its devilish intentions with a hand to his face and huff. “Not _that_ kind of stimulating.”

“Ah, but what good is stimulation if _not_ that kind of stimulating?”

Once again, Philippe rolls his eyes. The Chevalier grins a cheesy grin and pulls on Philippe’s ear to earn a laugh from him. His tactic works well. The prince lets out a giggle, a most angelic sound, and his eyes crinkle ever so slightly at their corners. It brings the Chevalier great joy.

“You will not let me continue reading, will you?”

“That depends on if you wish to continue doing so yourself.” The Chevalier now has a curl of Philippe’s hair captive, weaving it between his fingers. Philippe tries to act like it is yet another unwanted distraction, but the Chevalier knows he loves it. He is not blind to the slight leaning into of his touch, or to the way Philippe’s eyes dare to dart over to the curl in the silence. He has studied the man too much and far too closely to not know when he is feigning anger and feeling love. “We could always find other activities. Ones that are more _active_ , perhaps?”

Philippe shuts his book of poems. He stares his love straight in the eye before huffing quite melodramatically, “You know, we can just fuck if you want to.”

The Chevalier should take offense to his game of words crumbling to such an anticlimactic end. But, something about the phrase makes him laugh instead. A hearty laugh, one that brings the faintest of glimmers into Philippe’s crystal blue eyes and leads to him nearly shoving the Chevalier off his lap to make him laugh more. By the time Philippe is across the room sampling a goblet of wine, the Chevalier is a giggling mess of blonde curls and draped, expensive clothing on the chair.

This is Philippe’s chosen favorite face for him to wear, though he would never tell.

“I am in love with a child.”

Wiping his curls from his eyes along with a tear, the Chevalier turns to Philippe and wags a finger his way. “Uh uh, you would be imprisoned if it were so, your highness!”

“You are practically incorrigible. Do you know that?”

“I know it,” he says, those eyes of his boring into Philippe’s, “and I _champion_ it.”

There is a pause, followed by a chuckle from Philippe and the clacking of heels against the wooden floor. In mere moments, his lips are on his lover’s. Playful. Chiding. _Loving_.

The Chevalier sighs into the feeling, remembering a time when such an action was almost out of the question, when Philippe was different. When he had to seek the love of another to fill the void Philippe’s absence created. That face of Philippe had been his worst. The Chevalier had feared it was going to stay, to be a permanent fixture on what used to be such a brilliant tapestry. However, as he kisses Philippe and feels the man’s strong yet soft hand wrap around the curve of his neck, bringing him closer and his lips firmer against his own, he is also reminded of how that grotesque face had fallen. The facade of anger, depression, and rejection had flown south for the winter, giving away to the real sunlight that shone beneath and revealed the man he fell in love with.‌ The man he loves more than anything in the world today.

The Chevalier sits up into the kiss, pushing the past aside, and pulls away so he can make eye contact and say the three words which had been such a struggle to say before his newer, more understanding and caring Philippe came to play. The three words that rang clear in his mind and shaped this new era of theirs.

“I love you.”

The words light up the sky, as well as Philippe. Their lips meet once more before the prince breaks off and caresses his Chevalier’s face with the lightest of touches.

“I love you too, you insufferable minx.”

With another kiss and both faces gleaming with joy, the two Philippes set off to begin and enjoy a night of activities.


End file.
